A Million Reasons Why

by Jessica Strawser

  “Is there anything you can tell about why I’m feeling so crappy?” Janie could hardly begrudge her the subject change. Other patients were waiting.

  “We’ll call with the results, like always. And I’ll spare you the same old lecture on how to take care of yourself. But this, this ask? That is becoming the best thing you can do for yourself that you’re not already doing.”

  She took a deep breath. As deep, anyway, as her newly shallow lungs would allow. What if fluid was collecting there? That happened. Didn’t end well. “What if I don’t want to?”

  Janie blinked at her. “Sela, there are millions of spare sophisticated trash collectors out there, just sitting around. If everyone who could give did, can you imagine how many lives would be better—would be saved? I have to believe more people would donate if they understood that. So when you spread the word, you’re not just doing it for yourself. You’re doing it for all of us. When you say you don’t want to…” Her frown deepened. “I mean, no one wants to. But there’s no shame in asking for help.”

  That’s where Janie was wrong.

  Sela hadn’t even gotten as far as asking, and shame was all she felt.

  23

  Caroline

  Caroline had once found such reassurance in having her whole family gathered under one roof—celebrations of milestones big and small, happy and sad, taking best shape in simple togetherness. The way any one of them could order pizza for the group—Walt’s parents, her own, the kids—without having to ask around about toppings. The running game the grandfathers had going, trying to outdo each other’s corny jokes, the kids wielding and withholding the “scoring system” of their giggling volume with shrewd glee. The trading of recipes and the borrowing of tools and the remember that times and the mutual agreement that chocolate was the only flavor cake worth serving. The comfort of having everyone safe and accounted for, where you could hear them, smile at them, reach out and touch them.

  She stood on this Sunday afternoon in her in-laws’ living room, breathing in the smoky-sweet smell of her father-in-law’s birthday meal of choice—pulled pork barbecue—and took in the stack of wrapped presents, the shoulder slaps of adults who hadn’t seen each other in longer than usual, the shirt tugs of kids vying for attention. Everything looked as it always had: the Cracker Barrel kitsch decor, the coat closet so stuffed no one bothered to seek an empty hanger, the window seats filled with Walt’s old toys that his mom, Brenda, kept “saving” for Owen, safety standards be damned.

  But that feeling of comfort was gone.

  “I’m dreading this family thing,” she’d confessed to Maureen. Dad’s recovery time had given her parents both excuse and cover to get their heads straight. Or at least their game faces. But they’d made it clear they expected this to be the start of getting back to normal. “It’s been a couple months since the last one, but it might as well be a couple years. I feel like nothing has changed with Walt’s side, and everything has with mine. I’m not used to feeling like we even have sides.”

  “Oh, come on,” Maureen had said. “It’s not like you guys are one of those sappy old-timey couples that calls each other’s parents Mom and Dad.”

  Caroline had stammered into silence. “Dear God,” Maureen had marveled. “You are? Try being a man’s second wife. Sometimes I think my in-laws found it presumptuous of me to even unpack my things. I’m pretty sure it’s in our prenup for me not to call them Mom and Dad.”

  “Their loss, Mo.” Caroline wasn’t in the mood to joke.

  “Do Walt’s parents know … anything?”

  “It didn’t feel like our place to tell them. At least, not yet. It’s not like my parents have been subtle about wanting to keep this quiet.”

  “And your own parents don’t know about the—the kidney thing?”

  Mo herself had been eerily quiet on that subject. An unprecedented instance of listening carefully and then offering no advice whatsoever. Her obvious fear of saying the wrong thing scared Caroline worse than any phone call to a transplant center could.

  “They don’t even know I’ve met Sela.” Keeping this from them had been surprisingly easy, given that she hadn’t seen them. Any guilt she might have felt was offset by the anger Caroline couldn’t shake toward Mom. The worst part, then, became this new tension with Walt. It made its presence known in subtle ways: A skipped kiss good-bye. A flick of the remote when the news turned to health care issues. A dropped call that went unreturned. They’d gone out of sync, off their game, distracted. She hoped that was all it was.

  Caroline groaned. “This birthday party is only family, and still I don’t know how to act.”

  “Welcome to everyone else’s family gatherings,” Mo had quipped. “I suggest wine.”

  Indeed. Caroline had brought one of those double-sized bottles, and as she hoisted it under her arm, bending to gather the coats shed on the kids’ excited tear into the house, she caught Mom’s look of disapproval. Tacky, Mom mouthed from her perch on an overstuffed recliner. A childish defiance rose in Caroline. Fat bottles, then, from now on. She made for the kitchen and its countertop corkscrew.

  “No one is leaving until we have the next family dinner planned,” Brenda announced, joy flooding her face as she lifted Owen, touching noses. “You grew an inch, and I missed it!”

  “Fred and I were saying that in the car!” Mom gushed. “We are so ready to get back to the rotation. And so thankful for the meal you dropped by when he was laid up.”

  “I wanted to do more.” Brenda shook her head. “We had nasty bronchitis, Matthew and I both. You wouldn’t believe how long that cough held on. Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone my favorite people.”

  Caroline tried to soak up some of the goodwill, but she seemed to be made of Teflon today, slippery and unreceptive. She ducked into the den to stack their coats in the usual spot on the desk and found Dad squinting at the laptop.

  “Just replying to a quick patient portal thing,” he said by way of greeting. Caroline’s mind grabbed at the word: patient. He would never not be one again.

  His unacknowledged daughter could relate.

  Caroline had resigned herself to playing along. But again she found herself asking: Would her parents feel differently if? If they knew about Sela’s health, that this chance at reaching out to her might expire, would they still squander it? Or would they, like Walt, remain singularly focused on Caroline?

  “We’ll host next. Least we can do, Caroline is so busy.” Mom’s voice trilled through the open door, right outside, and Caroline turned back toward the kitchen.

  Specifically, toward the wine.

  She busied herself retrieving stemware from the cupboard so no one would see her face. The passive-aggressive remark was infuriatingly out of context, but why argue? She was making a point to be extra busy. This week, she’d thrown herself into multitasking as if it were a competitive sport. When her turn came to supply snacks for Riley’s soccer game, she made granola from scratch. When she saw a new park mentioned on their playgroup’s messenger chat, she organized an outing. On the most satisfying day, she’d nearly managed to be in three places at once, cheering on Lucy’s music assembly while listening, muted, on a conference call, then whisking Owen to his checkup within the hour. In those moments, she felt like her capable self again, albeit a guilty version who was tabling her sister’s issue in a way her sister could not.

  She didn’t feel like herself now, though, not here with their family—where she should be her best self. Even Walt seemed more at ease today. Probably happy to be back with his own parents, who didn’t require explaining away children or apologizing for self-serving meddling.

  There was a loneliness in Caroline’s position that none of them could relate to.

  She bet Sela could, though.

  Caroline burned with shame that she’d let weeks go by without responding to Sela’s email. But shame didn’t help her figure out what to say.

  “Should we do presents before we eat?” Brend
a mused. “If we’re going to enjoy a glass of—” She turned the bottle so she could see the label, smiled politely. “Red blend?”

  “Pres-ents be-fore we eat!” the kids chanted, thundering in. “Pres-ents be-fore we eat!” Their sneakers stomped the linoleum, summoning Walt and Matthew, grinning, from the living room. Dad appeared in the doorway of the den, and she had to admit he looked better than she’d seen him in weeks. She’d focus on gratitude for the things that—well, that could be worse. Was he allowed wine? She set about filling glasses; no one moved to stop her.

  “If we’re doing presents first,” Matthew mused, “might as well do cake first too.”

  The kids let out a cheer so loud no one passing by the house would have believed there were only three inside.

  Did Brody’s dad have a family that indulged the boy this way, making up for the lack on Sela’s side? What was wrong with Caroline that she couldn’t shut out these thoughts of Sela and Brody, no matter how she tried?

  What was wrong with her parents and Walt that they could?

  “Matthew,” Brenda scolded, “they’ll spoil their dinner.”

  “It’s my birthday.” He pouted. “Don’t I get to decide?”

  Another raucous cheer.

  In the living room, as the adults settled with their drinks into seats and the kids ran for the baskets of munchies on the end tables, Walt put a record on the turntable and dropped the needle. The unmistakable organ keys of his dad’s favorite band, the Doors, piped through the old upright speakers. “Oh, that one’s scratched,” Matthew lamented. “Won’t make it past this track.”

  Walt held up the cover so his dad could see its mint condition. “Gift number one: a shiny new replacement. You can thank the hipsters for bringing vinyl back.”

  “Oh!” he exclaimed. “What a great idea! Skip to ‘L.A. Woman,’ would you?”

  “Matthew,” Brenda repeated. “Not kid friendly!”

  “But it’s ‘Sunday afternoon.’”

  “T-O-P-L-E-S-S B-A-R-S!” she spelled. “M-U-R-D-E-R!”

  “The lyrics are slurred,” Walt said. “I think it’s okay.”

  “I’m impressed you know the lyrics,” Dad told Brenda, Mom nodding in agreement. They favored singer-songwriters—James Taylor, Carole King—though they played them loud like rock. “Fire and Rain.” “It’s Too Late.”

  Something inside has died / And I can’t hide and I just can’t fake it …

  Caroline swigged from her glass.

  “Which one is that, Daddy?” Riley asked. “Want, or need?”

  A couple of years back, their family’s gift giving had gotten out of control, both sets of grandparents so intent on spoiling the kids that Caroline would burn with contempt at their privilege by the end of the day. She and Walt put their feet down, and everyone settled on a universal rule of three: something you want, something you need, something to read.

  “Well, since it’s a replacement, I’m not sure it’s either. That’s why I didn’t wrap it.”

  “Ooh,” Lucy piped up. “That means you still have three more, Grandpa!”

  “Are we allowed to give the kids more than three, if they’re ‘replacements’?” Brenda asked hopefully. Walt shot her a don’t get me in trouble look, and she grinned. “Worth a try,” she teased, sipping her wine. “This is good, Caroline. Does it come in regular sizes?”

  Caroline ignored Mom’s look of mortification. As if Caroline were the one who should be embarrassed here. About anything. “I’ll pick up a bottle for you next time I see one.”

  Owen and Lucy dove to “help” Matthew with the largest gift, tearing the paper away to reveal a leaf blower.

  “This is want,” he said admiringly. “Definitely want.”

  “Sign me up,” Dad chimed in. “I want too.”

  “For you, it’s need,” Mom chided. “Your heart has no business raking.”

  “That’s snow shoveling. I think I can handle some dried leaves.” Everyone was laughing, enjoying each other, and Caroline started to relax. Maybe moving ahead was as easy as going through the motions, and the feelings would follow. Maybe she only needed more time.

  “Mine next, Grandpa,” Riley called. “The one in the bag!” Riley had asked, sweetly, if she could do the something to read, and Caroline agreed without asking questions. That her daughter wanted to take the initiative was all she needed to know.

  “This was all her,” she called out, getting into the spirit. A murmur of appreciation went around the room, and Riley jumped up to stand next to the man of honor.

  “We learned about these poems at school, where the first letter of each line spells your name. It starts with an A. Across…”

  “Acrostic,” Caroline supplied. Riley nodded proudly.

  “You wrote me a poem?” Matthew engulfed his granddaughter in a squeeze.

  “Want me to read it, so everyone can hear?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Riley reached through the tissue paper and pulled a trimmed piece of poster board from the bag. She held it so her grandfather could see and slid onto his chair cushion beside him.

  “Grandpa,” she read loudly:

  Giggles,

  Riddles,

  A+

  Nock nock jokes, and

  Dynamite

  Puns,

  Always.

  “How sweet!” Brenda exclaimed.

  Caroline was puzzling over the N until the misspelling of “knock knock” dawned on her, and she smiled to herself. Some gifts were better for the flaws.

  “Hey now. Are you saying he’s funnier than me?” Dad feigned offense.

  “That’s exactly what she’s saying!” Matthew boomed—to boast, but also to be heard over the record player’s crescendo. Caroline had never realized how long “L.A. Woman” was. Walt lowered the volume.

  “I’ll make you one too, Gramps,” Riley promised.

  “You haven’t seen the best part,” Matthew said. “She drew it!” He flipped the board around to reveal the poem itself—colorfully illustrated in Sela’s lettering technique.

  Caroline froze.

  “Oh, Riley, that’s beautiful!” Brenda gasped. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  Walt’s eyes flew to hers in alarm. Caroline opened her mouth to interject, but too late.

  “Aunt Sela taught me!” Riley bubbled over. “She’s an artist, and her mom taught her, and she’s teaching me. Next time, we’re going to visit her house, and—”

  Caroline stole a look at her parents. Their faces had gone pale, and Mom clutched Dad’s elbow as if to keep from falling, though they were sitting down.

  She herself had held to Walt exactly that way the morning Sela left. She had never loved being so physically like Mom, but she’d never before been offended by it. Now, she could barely stand the sight.

  Dad, to his credit, did not look particularly surprised. Only sad.

  “Aunt Sela?” Brenda turned to Caroline in confusion. “Who’s Aunt Sela?”

  The song chose that moment to finally end. You could have heard a feather float through the air, so sudden and complete was the silence.

  “Old friend,” Caroline blurted out, at the same time that Walt said, “Term of endearment.”

  Brenda smiled teasingly. “Here I was racking my brain for forgotten family members.” She laughed, even as a terrible tension snaked through the room. Caroline’s face burned under the laser gazes of Mom’s alarm, Dad’s discomfort. “I don’t remember that name,” Brenda went on, oblivious. Caroline could see her flipping through her mental copy of their wedding’s guest book. Any minute, she’d ask where Caroline knew Sela from or where she might check out her art. Caroline had to redirect, fast.

  Even though damage was already done.

  “Aunt Sela drew our names better than that.” Owen pointed a critical finger at his sister’s gift.

  “Can’t imagine better than this,” Matthew said quickly.

  Riley sighed. “It was,” she conceded. “You can see
it next time you come over. Daddy hasn’t hung it up yet, but he’s going to, right, Daddy?”

  Walt dug at the carpet with the toe of his sock. He’d stashed the frame in the pantry, insisting to Caroline that out of sight, the kids would forget it. I for one don’t want to look at reminders of her right now, he’d said. What would you tell your parents, anyway? It’s distinctive. They’ll ask about it.

  But Caroline liked it as much as the kids did. She’d been hoping to wait him out. No matter that he had a point. The next song began with an unnaturally slow, psychedelic beat, and Walt glared at the turntable as if it had disappointed him. He switched it off abruptly.

  “She slept in my room,” Lucy chirped. “She helped me like it again!”

  Brenda looked quizzically from Lucy to Caroline, the tension finally constricting the parties caught unawares in the middle. Moments ago, Caroline had been lamenting the unfairness of being the only one who felt awkward, unbalanced.

  Careful what you wish for.

  “Well,” Brenda said, clearing her throat. “I can see she made quite an impression. It’s a beautiful gift, Riley. I have the perfect frame.” She clapped her hands. “How about that cake?”

  * * *

  “Start talking, Fred.” It was a relief to see Mom’s anger redirected, if only momentarily.

  “What would you have me say? I didn’t know she was here. But we talked about the possibility Caroline might pursue this.”

  They were storming down the sidewalk away from the house, two paces in front of Caroline and Walt, evidently far enough ahead to forget they could be heard. Either that, or Mom had abandoned her lifelong pretense of keeping their arguments private.

  “I’d like to take a walk with my daughter,” Dad had announced once they’d survived the awkward meal. Poor Brenda and Matthew kept exchanging glances as if they’d accidentally broken something they hadn’t known was fragile and still hoped to avoid paying full price.